


Howl

by wynnebat



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:07:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25928629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: “Help me,” said Gaston. His tone wasn't pleading—he could never allow himself to fall to that—but it was still something less than his usual confident drawl. “I can pay you.”“You will pay me, yes. But it won't be with money. I curse you, Gaston, to walk this world as the animal you truly are until you understand what love is.”
Relationships: Gaston/LeFou (Disney)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 192
Collections: WIP Big Bang 2020





	Howl

**Author's Note:**

> This story deals with an outbreak of the Black Death. No major characters die, but some minor characters do. Brief scene of sexual harassment.
> 
> Quotes in italics from The Portrait Of A Lady by Henry James and Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte.

It had been a very long time since Gaston had been truly scared. Not since the war, and even then he'd had confidence to pad the fear. Falling through the air as the castle bridge broke under him, Gaston stretched his arms out wide as his heart climbed into his throat, but there was nothing to hold onto. It was over before he had time to vocalize his fear, which, if he had time to think, was good. It wouldn't do to have Gaston’s final legacy be a scream.

Harsh, cold snow lightened his fall, but the winter-hardened ground beneath it was fiercer. Gaston felt something break—multiple somethings. A whimper of pain escaped him and he was surprised that he was still even alive to feel pain. When the sensation of pain began to fade, Gaston assumed he was dying. He'd expected to die one day—before growing old and losing his magnificent form, ideally—but it seemed like such a waste to die like this. There were no triplets to cry over him, nor LeFou to sing his eulogy so that Gaston could hear it in his dying moments. Belle was no doubt still fawning over her beast instead of even seeing if he lived. 

He opened his eyes to the bright light, awaiting whatever came next. Instead he saw a woman glowing inside the light. For all that she looked like one, she wasn't an angel. It was an oft told tale in their region: mistreat a crone and she'll reveal herself an enchantress and pay you back a hundredfold. She didn't care much for casualties, either. Her magic may have been white, but she wasn't of the light.

“I haven't harmed you,” Gaston croaked out. He tasted blood in his throat.

“Not directly,” the enchantress agreed. “But you've mistreated me, mistrusted me, called me a liar.”

Her form flickered into a more familiar one. Ah. Agathe.

“Are you going to finish me off? Or help me?” This really was like the war. Out in enemy territory, dependent on the kindness of strangers.

“I'd be happy to simply leave you here. You won't be found for hours in the excitement. You wouldn't be missed by me… But you would be by some.”

“The village loves me.”

“Not all of it. Not now. The love of the masses is fickle and easily swayed by a pretty face or a pretty purse. But there are several people in your village who genuinely love you,” the enchantress said, staring down at him. “They must see something in you that I cannot.”

“Help me,” said Gaston. His tone wasn't pleading—he could never allow himself to fall to that—but it was still something less than his usual confident drawl. “I can pay you.”

“You will pay me, yes. But it won't be with money. I curse you, Gaston, to walk this world as the animal you truly are until you understand what love is.”

“Wait!” Gaston cried. “I'm in love with Belle.”

There was something like pity in the enchantress’ eyes as she looked at him. “Do you honestly believe that?”

Gaston blinked. What else was love, if not this? Everything he'd done since Belle disappeared was all for her. “Yes.”

“Then you have even more to learn than I thought.” With a wave of her hand, the white light enveloped Gaston.

He didn't feel the change. He should've—it was the loss of his body, his perfect body—but within a blink the enchantress was gone and he was changed. Not wanting anyone to see him like this, he ran into the woods. Even the woods were different now without the snow or darkness that they had been steeped in before. Everything seemed bigger to him, and he ran on four legs. Had she shrunk him? A miniature version of Belle’s beast, just for her amusement? His hands and feet—paws, he thought with a shudder—were dark with mud by the time he reached the river. It was barely more than a stream, but it was enough for him to see his reflection in the moonlight.

He was smaller. He wasn't as ugly as the beast, either. His short fur was a couple shades of light brown, his ears pertly sat upon his head, and his snout had the shape of a good hunting dog’s. In fact, Gaston wouldn't have thought his reflection out of place in his own pack of dogs.

Something like fear in his throat, Gaston tried to speak. All that came out was a bark.

At least that beast had his voice, Gaston yelled, growled, into the forest. He had servants, too! And a castle, and Belle. How was he supposed to learn what love was in such an uncomfortable position? Love needed comfort and time, not this tiny form. He could've picked up this dog as easily as a feather.

He was a handsome dog at least, Gaston thought, staring into the water. There was muscle under his fur and the enchantress had at the very least healed his injuries.

Never being one to mope over things he couldn't accept—Gaston wasn't fond of thought when it didn't pertain to hunting or attractive women—he decided to treat this like a hunt. And what was love if not tracking down an acceptable target (at which point both would shoot each other, leaving each with soft emotions gushing around them)? He was the greatest hunter in the village. He could do this. If the enchantress didn’t consider his love for Belle real, then he would fall in love with someone else. With any luck, she would return him to his proper state, and Gaston could court his future love.

For a proper hunt, he would need supplies. This enchanted body of his would need food and shelter and someone to wash and brush him. For a moment, he considered Belle. Belle liked hopeless, furry things, if one went by her romantic choices. But if the beast was alive, he would have to deal with him every day, and that was not an option.

The triplets would wash him and brush him and tie ribbons into his fur. Stanley wouldn't know what to do with a dog if the incompetent way he cared for his guns was an indicator. Tom had once kicked a dog in Gaston’s presence; Gaston would never say that he was an especially kind person, but he'd taught Christophe the error of his ways. Mindless beatings were for idiots who wanted their dog to run away.

In the end, as always when it came to things that Gaston didn't want to do or didn't want to admit he couldn't do, Gaston turned to LeFou.

He made his way out of the forest half by memory half by his nose just as the sun was finishing its descent. LeFou had already stumbled into his small house in town, so Gaston began to howl and scratch at his door.

“Go away,” LeFou had the gall to yell.

Gaston comforted himself with the fact that LeFou didn't realize it was really him. He continued.

A couple minutes later, LeFou opened up a window, glared at him, and threw a bone out of the window. “That's your bribe to leave me alone.”

He slammed the window shut. Gaston growled, but LeFou had already retreated to his bedroom. He considered continuing making a nuisance of himself, but the time simply wasn't ripe. He'd hunted down LeFou too soon; if he continued, LeFou might not take him in.

At least it was a warm night, Gaston thought, lying down on the porch with his head between his front paws. The bone, far away as it was, smelled good. It must still have some meat on it.

Growling softly to himself about what he'd do to the enchantress once he got his body back, Gaston snatched up the bone before returning to his spot next to LeFou’s door.

*

Gaston slept fitfully that night, dreaming of fighting and war. Fighting was good, clean fun, making him stronger and teaching whoever he fought how a real man should be. War was the opposite. He dreamed of women he'd fancied himself in love with at various points in his life, ones who'd entered and exited his life without leaving much of a hole behind. Had he loved them? Had they loved him?

He was awake as the sun began to rise. Relieving himself against a tree was embarrassing. It had been years since he'd felt embarrassed over something. If Gaston was doing it, then it was the right thing to do, had been his motto. This was… not.

LeFou took his time sleeping in, eating breakfast, getting ready, and then finally opening his front door. As if only just now remembering Gaston’s presence, he said, “Oh hello, you're still here?”

 _Where else would I be,_ Gaston thought, scowling up at him. LeFou had never been taller than him in their lives; this was a disgrace.

“Aw,” LeFou said, crouching down. “Are you going to bite me?”

 _Only if you coo at me again._ But Gaston submitted to a surprisingly great-feeling scratching of his head without a growl. LeFou was cowardly and it wouldn't do to scare him off.

“Do you have a name, cute thing? You've obviously belonged to someone at some point, although maybe not in a while.”

An idea flew into his head. Unconsciously wagging his tail, Gaston tried to carve a word out in the dirt with his paw.

 _Clever, but no,_ said a voice in his head, then disappeared. He found himself unable to make anything other than illegible scratches in the dirt.

“Is there something there?”

Gaston whined.

It got him a scratch behind the ears. “Good boy.”

That was completely nonsensical but felt great. At least LeFou knew how to properly scratch behind his ear.

They'd spent so many lazy days together almost like this, with one of Gaston’s hunting dogs between them, talking about what they still wanted to do before they got old and gray. Gaston wanted to hunt something no one had ever hunted before. LeFou had looked at him and muttered something about wanting to be there with him when he did it, as he should. LeFou could never miss one of his great feats. With delight, Gaston realized LeFou wasn't missing out even now. In a couple days, Gaston would be human and in love and he could regale LeFou of his newest adventure.

“Were you one of Gaston’s dogs?” LeFou asked, continuing to pet him. “Have you seen him? I looked for him last night, but couldn’t find him. The others think that maybe he fled—”

Gaston made a low noise in his throat.

“—yes, that doesn’t sound like him. He must be hurt and alone out there. Or dead.” LeFou sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t know what to think. I’m angry. He hurt me, you know. Insulted me, used me as a shield against his enemies and didn’t have the grace to save me from them in return. It might be better if he were—” Startled, LeFou moved his hand away just before Gaston’s teeth could sink into his skin. “—gone.”

LeFou stood. The ease between them had vanished and now he looked down at Gaston with weariness. Gaston did not regret it; he would never stand for such disgraceful words to be said against him, even by his oldest friend.

“You’re not as nice as you pretend to be,” LeFou said. He didn’t look as angry as he should have. For a moment, Gaston had the strange notion that his friend could see into the heart of him, see the man inside the beast. But it wasn’t to be. “If you bite me, I won’t feed you any scraps.” At the wag of Gaston’s tail, LeFou gave in and said, “Alright, alright.”

At once, Gaston knew he had made the right choice of caretaker for his beastly form. LeFou was an easy mark, a pushover more often than not, but he was kind, and kindness was what Gaston needed most right now. If he had to live like this for the days or, heaven forbid, weeks, it took him to understand love to the enchantress’ definition, he needed his oldest friend.

Rather than returning home, LeFou took a familiar path. He knocked on the door to Gaston’s house. Gaston scrambled up next to him to look at his face, which held a conflicted sort of hope. LeFou seemed relieved that no one answered. He entered without permission; Gaston had not seen to securing his home in the chaos of the previous night. LeFou gave a cursory look through his rooms. They were the messy rooms of a bachelor; clothes strewn about, food left on surfaces. Gaston gave a longing look toward his bed. He took a running leap and found himself short of leg, hurting his nose against the side of the bed. It was entirely depressing. Turning away, he sought out LeFou.

He found LeFou in the kitchen, where he had opened half the cupboards and drawers.

“Everything is still here,” LeFou said, restlessly picking up a carton of eggs. “All his clothes, his hunting gear, his military uniform, his food. He wouldn’t leave without it.” LeFou rubbed his face. “I don’t know why I’m talking to a dog. Am I so lonely that I begin speaking to an animal as soon as I lose my best friend?”

Gaston let out a quiet howl. LeFou had nothing to worry about. He would be back in no time. This was simply a blip in his otherwise excellent life. He would return, embrace LeFou for his help, court the woman who taught him love, and rebuild his standing in the town. He could hardly be blamed for attacking a monster so terrible, so ugly. The business with Maurice and Belle—it was unfortunate, but it would be forgotten in time. Captain Gaston, war hero, undefeated in lifting and wrestling—that was the man who would be remembered. All he had to do was return.

“You’re good company.” LeFou closed each cabinet and stepped out into the backyard, where he fed the dogs and counted them.

Gaston approached his two dogs, head held high and tail alert. Small state or not, he was still master of the house, and they would have to recognize him as such. He bared his teeth at Rex in case the bigger dog got any ideas. But outside the hunt, Rex was a mellow beast. Rex licked his head before returning to his food. Sultan followed suit, sniffing Gaston and wagging his tail as always. Gaston wondered if they recognized him. If so, his dogs were smarter than any human. When LeFou reached for him, Gaston went willingly and ate from his hand.

“You must be new, if the dogs know you and I don’t. It’s a shame. You barely got to know Gaston.” LeFou sighed. “Whatever else he was, he was good to his dogs.”

LeFou had certainly developed a poor opinion of him. Gaston was not in favor of it, but beggars could not be choosers.

Upon feeding Gaston’s dogs, LeFou headed toward the castle. Gaston moved quickly to keep himself from having to share a kennel with his dogs. Not only would it not help him learn the meaning of love, but it would be beneath him. Not that, at this height, there was much beneath him except the ground. Gaston deeply missed his former height. He had appreciated it much when he was human, but not as much as he would as soon as the curse was lifted.

LeFou appeared to be lost in thought throughout their trip. Without the enchantress’ magic at play, it was only a half hour’s walk to the castle. No longer was it cloaked in winter, nor had the stone turned to ruin. Gaston left LeFou’s side without thinking and found himself drawn to the spot where he fell. There was no sign of the enchantress, nor of the blood he must have spilled into the earth. All that gave evidence to Gaston’s presence there was his musket, half hidden in the grass.

Gaston barked loudly to gain LeFou’s attention. He nudged the gun with his nose, then sat down next to it and waited for LeFou to arrive.

“What!” LeFou exclaimed when he picked up the gun. “This is Gaston’s. I would recognize it anywhere.”

He turned it over in his hands, running his fingers along the metal outer mechanisms and the wood barrel. Gaston made a noise of warning before LeFou touched the muzzle or the trigger.

Unfortunately, LeFou did not take the gun as a sign of hope, closing his eyes and pressing it lengthwise to against chest. “He would never leave his gun were he alive. Gaston… he must be dead. When the curse transformed the castle and its people, it must have taken his body with the snow.”

Gaston nudged his nose into LeFou’s lower leg.

“I’ll give this to the castle’s master of the hunt. A good gun is always useful, as Gaston says— _said_ —and I’m no hunter myself.”

Being that Gaston had no thumbs to pull the trigger, he allowed this _lending_ of his gun. Once he was human, he would reclaim it, and in the meantime it could be put to use. He followed LeFou inside the castle but separated from him at the first staircase. If there was one good thing about this form, it was that he gained a dog’s sense of smell.

Belle’s scent lingered in the air. Gaston followed it until he found her. He was unsurprised to find her surrounded by books; what surprised and overwhelmed him was the sheer number of books. He crouched low under an armchair, suddenly worried that the books would fall off their shelves and bury him in paper. What a terrible, ignoble death. Almost as bad as reading one of these books.

Mere moments after he began watching Belle, the door to the library opened again.

“You’ve escaped, my Belle,” came a man’s voice.

She laughed, sliding a piece of paper into the book before shutting it as he approached. It did not escape Gaston’s notice that Belle had never given him attention over a book. “Not from you, Adam. From everyone else. They all want to talk to me.”

Gaston eyed this man who approached. He did not have Gaston’s muscular frame, nor did he have his charming mustache. His hair was too light and his eyes were too joyous and he sat too close to Belle.

“You are their future queen, after all,” Adam said. “They want to get to know you.”

Gaston stifled his growl. He could give Belle the world, but he could not give her a castle. It rankled, tore at him. Was this what love was? This feeling in his chest, this smothered growl? Was this what the enchantress wanted him to understand? Her voice was silent. She gave no answer to his questions, not even when Gaston raged at this man, this royal, kissing the hand of his woman.

“No one listened to anything I had to say when I was just an artist’s daughter. Now that you want to marry me, I matter.”

Adam’s expression gentled. “They were fools. They didn’t understand what a treasure you are. A woman who would fall in love with me when I had the appearance of a beast. A woman whose brilliance lights up the room and tries to find the same in every girl. A woman who still thinks Romeo and Juliet is romantic instead of only tragic.”

Belle laughed. “It’s both!”

“It’s ridiculous. A story of two dunces whose melodrama and willingness to die only proves that they were not mature enough to marry in the first place. There was no trust between them or respect, even if one allows that _perhaps_ they were truly in love rather than simply vain and young.”

“Their situation is hardly different from ours—”

“—ridiculous, I deny it—”

“—look at us, falling in love despite all that stood in our way. Not warring families but a cruel curse that lasted for many long years, not matchmaking friends but matchmaking servants. Through hurt and terror and near death, we’ve only become closer. I held your dying body in my arms like Juliet and I grieved until grief turned to joy. We were spared tragedy through the will of the enchantress. Juliet and Romeo had no one to save them.”

“Your point is made,” Adam said, shaking his head with a smile. “Their story is ours in a way. Although I still say they were silly.”

Belle touched her hand to his. “In their own way, they were. We can do better.”

“They succeed us in one fashion—we have not married yet. You don’t have to accept my suit if you don’t wish it. We can wait. We have time. But they will crown me king soon and I don’t want to wear a crown without you by my side. You complete me, temper me, bring me joy when the crown will only bring me headache.”

“I’ll vex you, too,” Belle offered.

“In the best of ways.”

Belle gazed at him with an expression that Gaston could only describe as love. Uneducated as he was in the ways of the heart, rather than the ways of the body, he could see that she loved him as much as he loved her. Gaston wanted to run across the room and bite the man’s heels. He considered doing it until he was distracted by Belle’s next words.

“My first act as queen will be to create a school for girls. I’ll teach them myself if we can find no willing teacher. I’ve been thinking about it all morning—and all my life. I want to give them the same opportunities as young boys have.” There was passion and fire in her eyes as Belle spoke, but no fear that her beloved would rebuke her or turn her down.

Adam met her belief with acceptance. “Then you’ll have it. Everything that is mine is yours. I’ll support you against anyone who dares to stand in your way. Young men can be educated at the school as well, especially those that come from poor families and couldn’t afford the village lessons.”

Belle stood from her seat, their joined hands stretching between them. “I’ll get to work on it right away. There isn’t any time to waste! And oh, of course on the wedding, too.”

“You don’t have to choose between me and the school,” Adam said, standing up to join her, now far too close. “You can have everything, Belle.”

“I never thought I’d be excited to marry,” Belle confessed all in a rush. “I knew every man in the village and I was certain I would never marry any of them. Especially not Gaston, who put me off marriage entirely. Now I understand why women were so excited to get married. I want to be with you.”

“And I you.”

They kissed, at which Gaston buried his nose in his paws and closed his eyes. He could do nothing. He was a dog, not a man. He could no more break them apart and steal Belle for himself than he could use a fork. Useless anger burned inside his chest. Gaston consoled himself by reminding himself that once he broke the curse, he could still try to win Belle for himself. Surely he would be a man again soon.

Belle and Adam parted for the afternoon, so Gaston left the library as well. This time he did not follow Belle. He made his rounds around the castle, from the entrance to the arches, retracing the steps he took last night, then explored the rest of the castle. Exercising his muscles helped him regain some semblance of calm. At his small height, it was quite a lot of work to walk through the whole castle, carefully keeping out of the way of any servants who would shoo him out.

Gaston paused at one door, recognizing a familiar voice.

LeFou sounded nervous, but excited. “I’ve hemmed and mended my own clothes all my life. I have a good hand with needle and thread; I would stitch men up in the battlefield during the war, too.”

“Are you able to create clothes, not only mend them?”

“Yes, yes I can, Monsieur Cogsworth. I made these buttons myself from wire and cloth, as well as the breeches and coat. This stitching is some of my best. Er, of course, I’m sure you can do better! I was taught by my mother, who was a talented seamstress. I had not considered that I would apply for a job using these clothes. They were made for— a dear friend.”

Gaston nudged the door open with his nose and entered the room, keeping out of sight. He would be sure to be kicked out of this room; full of fabrics and mannequins and tailor’s tools as it was, it was no place for a dog. Gaston himself used to take pains to keep his clothes free of dog hair, as it did not charm ladies to see hair on his shirt.

The man, Cogsworth, appraised each piece of clothing carefully, scrutinizing every stitch. Gaston knew he would find nothing to complain of. Not only had LeFou looked through his rooms, but he had taken his clothes, too. The impertinence! LeFou may have made these clothes for him, fashioning them matching outfits that suited them quite well, but a gift was a gift. Despite Gaston’s disappearance, LeFou could not simply take them from his home.

“Very well,” Cogsworth said, straightening and handing Gaston’s clothing back to LeFou. “Your test will be a full outfit for Monsieur Lumiere, our maitre d'. From head to toe, you will clothe him, and present him to me within a week’s time. You may use materials from this room—none of the prince’s fabrics are stored here—to do so. If you do well, you will join the castle’s staff as a tailor. If you have wasted my time…”

“Thank you, Monseiur Cogsworth,” LeFou said, sounding much too excited to become one of the castle’s servants. “I won’t let you down.”

Once Cogsworth exited the room, LeFou collapsed into a chair with a sigh of relief. “Oh, that was stressful.”

Upon opening his eyes, he looked around the room at the bolts of fabric and tailor’s equipment. His gaze was next drawn down to the floor, where Gaston sat on top of some kind of paper sheet.

“It’s you,” LeFou exclaimed, reaching out.

Gaston approached him and took his petting as was his due.

“You shouldn’t be in here, you know. Monsieur Cogsworth doesn’t like dogs. He yelled at Maestro Cadenza and Madame de Garderobe’s Frou-Frou on the way here.”

Gaston simply wagged his tail in response. Cogsworth was not of any concern to him. Neither was this Frou-Frou.

Despite his words, LeFou did not kick him out.

“I remember when I made these for Gaston,” LeFou said with a wistful sigh, picking up Gaston’s coat from the table. “So many hours of work. He didn’t thank me. The reward of him wearing it was almost enough; as well as that of taking his measurements.”

Gaston could not disagree. LeFou’s garments graced his excellent form and LeFou’s hands had lingered over Gaston’s muscles and physique, the kind that LeFou could only dream of. It was understandable that LeFou would want to see the body he could not have, to feel the way Gaston’s muscles rippled under his hands. Gaston had undressed fully for him, enjoying the appreciation and jealousy in LeFou’s gaze.

Kindly, he had offered to train LeFou in building his muscles as Gaston did, but LeFou had not taken him up on the offer, instead preferring to compliment Gaston’s form. Gaston enjoyed his appreciation, preening and flexing his muscles. LeFou was very good with compliments and Gaston enjoyed being complimented. Theirs was a suitable friendship.

Perhaps he could have thanked him, but what was the use? LeFou was always happy to fulfill his requests, whether it was getting his drink or mending his tears. He did not need to be thanked to understand that Gaston appreciated his efforts. Why, without Gaston around, he would be bored to tears. This must be why he was applying to a job at the castle.

When Gaston returned, all would be well again. LeFou would quit and be by his side, and… From there Gaston’s image of the future grew fuzzy. For all that he wanted Belle for himself, he did not know how to get her. He could not see her in his arms yet; all he could see were moments from the past brought into the future: hunting, drinking, riding, and in all LeFou was easier to imagine than Belle.

It was a failure of imagination, which Gaston hardly saw as a failing. Imagination was for people with their heads stuck in the clouds like Belle. He was a man of action.

Gaston scratched against the door.

“Alright, alright,” LeFou said, sounding fond. Gaston recognized the tone. “Don’t get into any trouble.”

Trotting out of the room, Gaston set his nose to find someone who could teach him the meaning of love.

*

Three weeks later, Gaston had still not broken the curse. As time passed, he had moved from LeFou’s porch to a nest of old blankets at the foot of LeFou’s bed. He joined LeFou on each of his trips to the castle. LeFou had succeeded in impressing Cogsworth and now worked as one of the castle’s tailors. Gaston was proud of his friend in a way; this was not good, honest work like hunting, but it put food on the table and in Gaston’s mouth, and LeFou enjoyed it more than he enjoyed hunting with Gaston.

It stung to realize that his friend was more excited about making buttons than shooting deer, but Gaston forgave him for it. To each his own.

While LeFou had a taste of success, Gaston had a mountain of failure.

He had not learned what love was.

Each day, he followed Belle or Plumette or one of the many women in the castle, urging himself to fall in love. Each time he thought he had succeeded, ignoring the women’s faults and making plans for a life together, there was no flash of magic or voice in his head.

Love was elusive.

It was also boring.

Gaston found more entertainment in helping LeFou with his work as a tailor, carefully bringing scissors and strips of fabric to him, than he did in trying to fall in love.

Still, he tried.

As always, his paws brought him to Belle. It was habit now to check in with her after leaving LeFou’s side in the morning. This time, he had been too busy ruminating on his failures and had forgotten to be careful.

Gaston froze in the middle of the library as Belle looked up from her book.

“Hello there,” Belle said, smiling down at him. “Are you finally going to come out from under the furniture?”

Huffing, Gaston crossed the rest of the room and jumped up next to her on the settee.

“I wonder what your name is. You must have an owner. You’re well-cared for.”

Gaston couldn’t help but preen. He did look quite good. LeFou had washed him only two days before, carrying buckets of water from the well just for him. They had both been wet and soapy in the end, and LeFou had laughed while Gaston barked and chased the bubbles.

Belle soon turned to her book. Gaston moved closer in order to see the text.

“Shall we read together? _It has made me better loving you_ _… it has made me wiser, and easier, and brighter. I used to want a great many things before, and to be angry that I did not have them. Theoretically, I was satisfied. I flattered myself that I had limited my wants. But I was subject to irritation; I used to have morbid sterile hateful fits of hunger, of desire. Now I really am satisfied, because I can’t think of anything better_.” Sighing, she murmured, “I don’t think so. For all that it is short, I much prefer a more romantic statement: _Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same_.”

Gaston looked at her beautiful face, turning his head to the side quizzically.

“I am getting married soon, Monsieur Chien. I’m searching for a phrase to say during my vows that encompasses the entirety of what I feel for him, but I cannot find it. I don’t know how to put it into words. It’s a tale as old as time and yet I don’t know what to say. Only that I love him, that I adore him, that I would love him were he a merchant or a chicken farmer or a blacksmith. I would love him if I never saw him again, or if he were old, or if he stayed a beast. Love is so strange, isn’t it?”

Settling his head on Belle’s thigh, Gaston let out a low noise. When her hand came down to stroke his head, he closed his eyes.

“I am sure you have had your loves, too,” Belle said with humor in her voice. “Sweet boy that you are. Do you have any advice to give me?”

Opening his eyes, Gaston gazed at her face. Soon, this would be the face of a married woman—a queen—and he would continue to look at her from knee-height. It was unspeakably hard to accept. All this time of following Belle around the castle proved to him that in one single way, the enchantress was correct. He didn’t love Belle. Oh, she was beautiful and sharp, and he always enjoyed the thrill of the chase, but she was loud and obstinate and driven in ways that Gaston did not understand. He had never understood her in truth; he had never wanted to. In a way, she reminded him of an attractive Clothilde; Cogsworth and Adam could keep their women. Gaston was not as passionate as Adam in supporting Belle’s education ideas or her passion for women’s rights, nor did he care to pretend to be.

What he understood was that Belle wanted, needed, a man who could stand with her while she waged her war on society. Gaston had been happy with his life as it was; he was well-loved and popular in town. He had friendship and a target for his affections. It was all that he needed.

Belle needed more.

Was this what love was? Understanding that he would have to let go of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, all because they were unsuitable for each other? In the past, Gaston thought Belle could change into a woman more suitable for him, to find inner happiness in keeping house for him, but it seemed that this was not the case. She would be happiest as a queen, getting her own way and educating her girls.

Gaston wiggled out of under her hand and nosed at the book until it fell from Belle’s lap. Then he returned under her hand, waiting for her to resume patting him.

With a huff of laughter, Belle scratched behind his ears. “Shall I abandon books entirely? Forget how to read?”

Gaston rolled his eyes. The sky would fall and the horsemen would ride before Belle forgot how to read. It was in her blood as hunting was in Gaston’s.

“Or do you think I should find my own words to describe my love for him?” Belle looked thoughtful. “I thought I was good with words until now. I feel like a child learning her letters. L-O-V-E. But what comes next?” She was quiet for a long moment. “I suppose that’s the exciting part, isn’t it. And I am excited. I won’t pretend to be otherwise. This is the life I never thought I could have.”

She reached for him, picking him up despite his startled wiggling, and kissed the top of his head before setting him on the ground.

“You give good advice, Monsieur Chien. I’ll pick up my pen again and write. Who knows, maybe I will write a whole book for him. That should be enough to describe my feelings. Now for my dress fitting…”

Ironically, Gaston felt as though he thought more as a dog than he ever had as a human. Belle’s words lingered in his head like her scent in his nose. Was love being excited to spend the rest of his life with someone? If so, how could he ever get to know a woman enough to want her forever, when he could not question her on how many kids she wanted or how amenable she was to foot rubs? He could not go on looks alone; look at how the business with Belle turned out. So much time wasted on a woman whose vision for the future involved schools.

There was much to do around the castle. Gaston visited Rex and Sultan, who were now a part of the master of the hunt’s growing pack, and reasserted his place at the top of the pack’s hierarchy. The only dog who did not follow his lead was Frou-Frou, a small, yappy thing who was a pet rather than a part of the hunting pack. Gaston did his best to avoid her. His horse was in the castle stables, beautiful and contrary as ever, making her keepers miserable with her picky habits. Gaston was careful to stay out of the way of her hooves.

From there, he visited his gun, which had gotten little use but rested on a rack with the castle’s best guns. He detoured in the kitchens, where one cook had a soft spot for dogs, and spent an hour outside in the sun with his bone.

If love was the feeling of joy of ripping meat from a bone and gnawing on it, then Gaston would have broken the curse weeks ago.

Maybe that was his problem, Gaston thought, morosely. Maybe dogs couldn’t understand love. They were made for good food and good hunts, not for abstract concepts. Dogs did not care about the meaning of life and love. They simply lived.

Maybe the enchantress set him up to fail.

He could spend the rest of his days like this. Petted, fed, but never understood.

Suddenly, the bone tasted less good.

Gaston considered hiding it for later—somewhere far away, since his stashes kept being found—when two people exited the castle through a side door.

“Monsieur, I have no love for you,” said Plumette. Steel had replaced her light, flirtatious tone, and when Gaston looked back he saw her arms were crossed over the sheet she held in her hands. “You must leave me alone.”

Even in her anger, she was lovely to look at; Gaston would have happily fallen in love with her based on looks alone, but he did not want to once again love a woman who loved another.

Across from her, a well-dressed suitor begged and begged. He was a visitor to the castle, arriving for the wedding, and Gaston did not like the look of him.

It was ruining Gaston’s meal. He quickly hid his bone in the nearest bushes and broke into a run, barking as his legs hit the earth. Plumette’s suitor did not linger, running off with a shriek. In his haste, he chose the direction opposite from the castle to run. Gaston hoped he did not return anytime soon.

“My savior,” Plumette said with a breathless laugh, watching the man run off as she stroked Gaston’s head. “Oh, that man is ghastly. I have told him I love Lumiere. Even a dog understands this. He is less intelligent than a dog!”

It wasn’t quite a compliment, but Gaston would take it. He wagged his tail.

When Plumette returned to the castle, Gaston walked with her until Plumette passed Belle in the hallway. He gave a bark, looking between the two of them. Then another bark, until Plumette revealed her struggles to the future queen. This deed done, he was free to return to his bone.

The castle had too many suitors already. It was in Gaston’s best interests to run off any young, handsome ones who might seduce a future wife of his, once he finally settled on who this woman would be. Not that this man was particularly adept at seduction; all Gaston had smelled on Plumette was anger and worry.

After finishing with his bone, Gaston sought out LeFou in the tailors’ rooms once more. This part of the castle was in a flurry of motion with the wedding happening soon. So many gowns and suits and shoes had to be made for all the attendants of the wedding, and much of the clothing stored in the castle from before the curse was useless, either old-fashioned or moth-eaten. Gaston napped at the side of LeFou’s chair, content to sleep in the bustle and noise.

When he woke up, he found that LeFou was the last one here. The other tailors and seamstresses had gone home for the night, while LeFou continued to work.

It was bad for LeFou’s back and eyes, all this hunching over and stitching by candle-light.

Gaston tugged at his breeches until LeFou gave in.

“Alright, alright,” LeFou said, dropping the fabric. “Give me five more minutes to finish up.”

Gaston waited patiently, watching him carefully, then barked when he felt like LeFou had spent enough time dallying. It was evening; Gaston expected to be fed and put to bed in his nest of blankets. He would not put up with all this overworking for the man who stole Belle from him. Adam’s wedding clothing could wait.

LeFou yawned as they left the castle together. “It feels good to stretch my legs. Cogsworth tells me there will be less work after the wedding. I just have to get through this week.”

Gaston walked next to him, the last of the sun fading behind their backs.

“I’ve never worked with fabric so fine in my life. I keep thinking I’ll mess it up and Cogsworth will yell at me.” A little wistfully, he said, “Gaston would have looked amazing in this outfit. He would have complained about the frills even as he preened in the mirror. The lace would have been good around his muscles.” With a snort, LeFou added, “He wouldn’t have thanked me for it anyway.”

 _I would be thankful to wear rags,_ Gaston thought, _for it would mean at least I am human again._

But he would prefer to wear LeFou’s creations. He would be happy to model for him once more, to enjoy the movement of tape measures against his skin and the warm touch of LeFou’s hands. He would take him riding instead of hunting, since Gaston had made peace with the fact that LeFou did not enjoy the hunt, not having gone once in the time since Gaston’s supposed death. Not even for a goodbye hunt, which was almost insulting.

Gaston would do a lot, were he human.

Did love truly matter? What was love compared to the comfort of sitting next to the fire with a good meal or the rush of the hunt? He had learned acceptance. Wasn’t that enough? He would leave Belle alone, allow her to enjoy her happy royal life, and he wouldn’t bother a woman who found no interest in him. Did he really need to learn love too? He needed a teacher, a tutor, in the ways of love, but the enchantress’ voice was quiet as ever, and she would not help him anyway. No one would.

A whistle rang through the night.

Gaston looked up to find that LeFou had stopped walking and now waited for him. Always, it had been Gaston who walked ahead with the boundless energy of a dog in his prime, but his thoughts had made him weary. It had been a long day—a long three weeks—a long lifetime, one with so little of a feeling everyone around him seemed to understand better than he did.

“Come on,” LeFou called out. When Gaston did not come running to him, LeFou walked closer and squatted down to stroke his head. “What is it, boy? Are you tired?”

A few more pets, and then he picked him up and brought him to his chest, heedless of Gaston’s muddy paws.

“I can’t carry you for long,” LeFou said, turning in the direction of the village again. “It’s been too long a day. And in the morning, we have to get up again. At least there is breakfast to look forward to. I know the cook has a soft spot for you, too. I’ve seen you carry bones across the castle.”

Gaston licked the side of LeFou’s neck, then rested his head on his shoulder. Darkness had fallen. Even with his improved eyesight, he could not see far behind them, but it did not matter. What mattered was the sturdy way LeFou held him and the way his chest moved as he breathed. What mattered was that even after a few minutes, LeFou did not put him down on the ground again. The next time Gaston opened his eyes, they were steps away from LeFou’s home. LeFou placed Gaston down on the nest of blankets at the foot of his bed.

Instead of falling asleep immediately, Gaston watched him prepare for bed. LeFou rubbed his tired feet for a moment. He was no connoisseur of the art of massage, giving up after a moment to relax into the bed. Within moments, LeFou’s breathing evened out. It really had been a long day.

There was a strange feeling in Gaston’s chest. He felt as light as a feather, blowing through the wind. Gratitude, it must be. LeFou helped him through a dark moment. For that, Gaston would do much for him, even rub his tired feet. It was the least he could do after LeFou carried him home. But he had no hands, no fingers, only paws.

Closing his eyes again, Gaston wondered if LeFou had felt the same gratitude when Gaston picked him up in the tavern. But that had all been for show, all to make Gaston feel better after Belle’s rejection. It was nothing like this private moment between two tired friends, even if if one thought the other was only a dog.

For the very first time Gaston considered if perhaps LeFou would feel something other than joy when Gaston broke his curse. Would he feel odd, having cared for a dog in such a way, only to see him turn into a man? Did he still harbor anger toward the way Gaston treated him during the battle in the castle? It was easier to let go of anger toward a dead man than a living one. Would it all come bubbling back, spilling over and drowning their friendship? Gaston hoped not.

He did not dream as a dog. But if he did, he thought he would dream of the warmth of LeFou’s hands and the sense of safety in his grip. Gaston had not thought for a moment that LeFou would drop him.

*

Once, when the library was empty, Gaston nosed through the books on the lowest shelves. This was how pathetic his life had become: searching books for the secrets of love. If Belle found them useful, then perhaps there was something in them that could teach him how to love. Gaston had learned to read in school as a child, his parents having been able to afford to educate him, and he had gotten entirely too much practice with reading and writing in the army. Once the war was over, he’d hoped to never have to bother with such things again.

It was a long process. Gaston flipped through several books with deceiving titles that had nothing to do with love, as well as one book that discussed which flowers signified different types of love.

As he looked down at the drawing of the yellow rose, Gaston wondered if the enchantress would accept platonic love.

He had loved his mother, certainly. Gaston’s memories of her were faded with time. She died when he was young, not seeing him grow up from a young boy to a man, but he remembered the way she told him stories and tucked him into bed. Whenever she told him she loved him, he would say it back to her. His father was not a kind man—Gaston didn’t remember the same exchange with him—but he put food on the table and helped Gaston sign up for the army. He was gone now, too.

There was no one who remembered his childhood. No one who remembered the boy Gaston had once been, light-haired and small, with bright eyes and a shyness that he’d lost as he aged. This boy had loved his mother not for her beauty, but for her kindness. Was that not enough to understand love?

He remembered the way he felt when he was carried home by LeFou. He cared for his friend, too. More than he had ever realized; more than he cared for most people. In a time when his future was so uncertain, true friendship was something to be valued.

*

LeFou forced him into a bow tie for the wedding. Not even a stately black or white one, but a green one that LeFou claimed to go well with his brown fur. Gaston tried to rip it off, but it was situated too high on his neck to bite off and his paws were too short and ungainly to tear it. He was stuck with it, though at least LeFou assured him that it was only for one day.

Though never as handsome as Gaston, LeFou looked good. A dark vest and white shirt paired with a red cravat that Gaston found for him at the back of his dresser and urged him to wear. If Gaston could not fulfill his own sartorial desires, he may as well dress LeFou.

Carriages arrived to collect the villagers for the wedding. Belle had invited everyone, not leaving off a single name, and even included LeFou’s Monsieur Chien in her invitations. So too had nobles and royalty from nearby kingdoms been invited; they marveled at the neighbor they had forgotten about entirely and shuddered at the thought of such a curse befalling them. Was plague not enough, but magic, too? Gaston stuck to the edges of the ballroom, idly thinking about how to fall in love with a visiting princess but mostly just enjoying the food that had been laid out on a low table for him and Frou-Frou, as well as eavesdropping on the conversations. He took it upon himself to growl at anyone who openly scorned Belle or the village guests for being common-born.

For the ceremony, he found LeFou and sat by his feet.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” LeFou murmured.

Gaston gave the proceedings a disgruntled look. Belle was beautiful, yes. And so was her happiness, her joy, the light in her eyes. There was a crown on her head and a ring on her finger, and all she did was look at Adam and smile. Gaston hoped she never had cause to exchange her smile for a frown; he would be happy to bark and growl Adam out of the castle if he made her unhappy. But unfortunately, Gaston had a feeling that his services wouldn’t be required. As smitten as Belle looked, Adam matched her. They were a suited pair.

During the wedding dinner, Gaston managed to get a rose out of the bouquets and brought it to Belle in his mouth.

“Thank you, Monsieur Chien,” Belle said, so light with happiness that it hurt to look at her.

She placed the rose in front of her on the table and turned to Adam. As he looked at her, Gaston thought, I do love her. But it was as one loved a queen, not a wife. He'd stormed the castle that dark night hoping beyond hope that there truly was a beast, because he could defeat a beast. He could never do the same with Belle. For as long as she wore her crown, Gaston would never go against the castle again.

Belle and Adam danced beautifully. So did Belle and LeFou, laughing as they began to exchange partners, and Stanley and Claudette, and— Stanley and LeFou? When they found themselves in each other’s arms by chance, neither of them let go. LeFou’s surprise turned to good humor and Stanley was always too pretty by far.

LeFou could do far better. Stanley couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn and he spent too much time in his cups at the tavern. This could not be the man his friend would set his attentions on. Gaston forbid it!

Before Gaston could intervene, Frou-Frou gripped him by the tail with her teeth and distracted him. By the time he broke free, the dance was over, but LeFou looked in Stanley’s direction with a thoughtful expression. Gaston imagined him growing lovesick, turning all his attentions toward Stanley, and considered fending off Stanley before he could get further into LeFou’s life.

Gaston watched LeFou for the rest of the evening. When the time came to leave, he promptly arrived by LeFou’s side and escorted him to a carriage.

“Are you so eager to be rid of your bow tie?” LeFou asked, ruffling his fur. “Or did you not like the food? I liked it. I would feast like that every day if I could. The fish was heavenly…” LeFou sighed happily. “This was a good day.”

Gaston could not entirely disagree. Despite his grumbling over Belle’s choice of husbands, there was something about watching two people so deeply in love make their vows to each other that Gaston could not bring himself to scorn. If the enchantress cursed them in the same way he had been, they would have broken through the curse in seconds.

“I wonder if Stanley meant it,” LeFou murmured, looking out into the window of the carriage as they were driven home.

Immediately looking LeFou’s way, Gaston waited for him to continue. When LeFou was silent, Gaston prodded at his hand with his paw. It only got him a petting.

 _What did Stanley say?_ Gaston yelled in his head. The words wouldn’t come out.

If Stanley proclaimed himself to be in love with his friend, then that was just nonsense. As the authority on what love wasn’t, Gaston knew that real love could not grow when the two in question barely knew each other. To his knowledge, LeFou and Stanley had rarely associated with one another until now. Stanley preferred Tom and Dick’s company, while LeFou had been loyal to Gaston. So many days they spent together, drinking and hunting and resting on the grass, looking up at the clouds as they talked of nothing in particular.

Stanley did not have that with LeFou.

But he could.

Gaston did not accept that he would never defeat this curse—visiting the enchantress and biting her until she let him go sounded better each day—but as far as LeFou knew, Gaston was gone. He could not grieve his friend forever. He would move on, and quickly too, if Stanley was a persistent presence. As much as he wished it, Gaston could not expect LeFou to grieve him forever.

Gaston had never cared in which way LeFou admired him. Whether LeFou dreamed of him as a friend or as a lover, it did not matter to Gaston because the outcome was the same. LeFou would agree to every whim, every adventure, and they would rarely be apart. Even if LeFou was inclined in this way, he never made a move, and thus Gaston had never needed to turn him down. He preferred the embrace of enchanting widows and his fantasies of Belle. Still, he knew that even before the castle was discovered, he would have disliked anyone encroaching on LeFou’s time, whether it was a man or a woman. LeFou was Gaston’s. It was as simple as that.

But LeFou was only human, and Gaston was… not.

He vowed to renew his efforts to fall in love. Stanley was not permitted to steal his friend from him while Gaston could not defend LeFou from his charms. When Gaston returned to his true body, he would work to erase the influence of Stanley on his friend, and everything would go back to the way it was.

*

Gaston threw himself into love in the days following the wedding. He focused on the visiting dignitaries that did not immediately leave. If there was something that prevented him from falling in love with the villagers or the castle’s servants, then it would not apply to the visitors. Maybe they had that special something that would let him fall in love. This _je ne sais quoi_ that LeFou referred to.

As such, he noticed when several servants and two princesses began to grow ill.

He stood by the door as a maid placed a cool, wet cloth over a princess’s brow.

“It can’t be,” said the maid, her hands shaking as she smoothed down the princess’s hair. “It’s gone. This is only an autumn cold.”

A cold feeling entered Gaston’s chest.

Dogs were instinctual beings. Even as a human Gaston had a knack for discovering paths through forests and finding clues in broken branches and light imprints in the dirt.

The maid gasped, and let out a horrible, awful sound as she saw something Gaston could not see from his low height. He raced out of the room. Not only because dogs were weak to disease, though not as weak as humans, but because this could not be hidden. He raced through the hallways until he found Cogsworth berating Lumiere for something. It was a petty squabble, but this was not the time.

Gaston barked and pulled at Cogsworth’s pants.

“Unhand me, dog!” Cogsworth yelled, shaking his foot. “This instant! Why, LeFou said you were the most well-behaved dog. This is not proper behavior!”

Gaston barked at him once, twice, and took a few steps in the direction of the visitors’ wing. He took a few steps and barked again.

“I believe he wishes to show you something,” Lumiere said, interested at once. “I shall join you, my friend.”

“You’re only avoiding work,” Cogsworth snapped.

“This is more important than work. Look at him! It is a proper mystery. Far more interesting than folding napkins.”

“You cannot simply throw them at our guests.”

“I did no such thing,” Lumiere said, breezily walking off in Gaston’s direction.

Gaston led them forward. They argued the entire time and did not walk with the swiftness that Gaston desired from them. He tried to speed them up, but they seemed to consider themselves doing a favor to him, and did not hurry. Once they reached the visitors’ wing, Gaston looked around for the correct door.

Within moments, the maid left the princess’ chambers, a cloth in her hand. When she saw Cogsworth and Lumiere approach, she paled and put her hand over her heart.

“What is it?” Lumiere asked, approaching her and forgetting Gaston’s presence entirely. “Is something wrong, Marie?”

“I fear a terrible thing has happened,” she said. Her voice wavered, as did her hands. “We are all in danger. It has returned.”

From there, the castle was a bustle of activity. But instead of the wedding and its preparations that had excited the castle only days ago, it was a grim sort of flurry that overtook the castle. Eight people were known to be sick; six within the castle and two in the village. All had attended the wedding only days before.

Adam raised his voice for the first time since his days as a beast, demanding to know who had entered his domain while sick. But it was impossible to tell; at the wedding, all had seemed to be in good health. Even with his nose, Gaston had not sensed anything amiss. It was true that he had been distracted by the events of the wedding, but he would have smelled the sickness. Wouldn’t he?

Doctors were summoned from the surrounding towns and cities, even from other principalities. If the plague had arrived here once more, then soon it would spread. That was the way of the Black Death. The castle had not had a doctor in a very long time, not since the previous one had been driven off before Adam’s curse. With the focus on the wedding, employing a doctor had not been a priority. Even if there had been one in the castle on the very first day, there was so little that could be done against the plague.

Gaston spent several days trying to make himself useful, carrying pouches of medicine between rooms and barking when someone needed aid.

One week later, a man from the village died.

A day after that, Stanley fell ill. LeFou brought him flowers. Belle worked tirelessly to establish sickrooms and make sure everyone had food. Once, in the library, she cried against a far bookshelf, and Gaston could do nothing but stay by her side. The plague did not care about the crown on her head or all the suffering the castle had already gone through under the curse. It only took, and took, and took.

Gaston searched the castle and the village for Agathe, but she was nowhere to be found. He had not seen her since she cursed him. An enchantress of her power surely would be able to do something, unlike Gaston, who had never felt so small and helpless. All those years ago, half of Paris perished. In this wave of the plague, could Gaston hope that the people he cared for could avoid the black specter of death? Could he depend on them not to die, not to leave him before he could say a single word to them?

LeFou would not leave the area, ignoring Gaston’s attempts to stop him from returning to the castle. Belle would not stay in her rooms. The triplets assisted the plague doctors that had finally arrived; one had already begun to complain of aching joints. Frou-Frou did tricks to entertain the sick. Adam worked tirelessly. Gaston deeply wished they would all be more selfish.

Was this love, this ache in his heart as he watched them for symptoms of the plague?

Once more, Gaston searched Agathe’s dwelling for any sign of her or where she could have gone. The whole place was a sham; she was a powerful enchantress, not an old widow, for all that she appeared as one. Gaston imagined her in faraway lands, cursing more princes and huntsmen, flashing her magic around and catching innocents in the crossfire.

He closed his eyes, breathing in and out.

Gaston dreaded to return home. Would today be the day he saw LeFou complain of fever?

Eyes still closed, he thought of the enchantress, of the light of her magic, of the help she may be able to provide. He had yelled for her inside his head for days with no answer. She did not hear him.

Where was she?

They were connected, the enchantress and Gaston, and they always would be until the curse was broken. She tied them together herself. If she was out there somewhere, why shouldn’t Gaston not be able to follow?

It could be far. Too far for a dog. But Gaston did not yet know how far he would be able to go for his friends; there was strength in this dog’s body, just as there had been strength in him as a human.

Taking a long moment to sniff out the enchantress’ magic in an old book half hidden under a raised tree root, Gaston stepped out from under the shelter of the tree. Here, his nose was betrayed by the smell of grass and animals, but there was still something there. Gaston could smell it easier with his eyes closed. It was small, barely noticeable, perhaps too faint to rely on, but it was still a trail. And Gaston had not been an expert hunter for nothing.

He followed it at a run, knowing he had little time to waste.

For all he knew, the enchantress was weeks away.

Gaston had never cursed his small form as much as he did now. If only he had a horse…

He would have to make do.

It was a hard road to travel, made harder by each passing day. Gaston drank from rivers and ate what he could scavenge. He felt sick with sweat and hunger, and he kept wondering if the plague had reached him after all, or if he was only over-exerting himself. More than the battle at the castle, this was what true war was like: tired muscles, sweat on his brow, mud and hunger. Gaston had not missed this part of war.

There were no widows to wave at him from their windows, nor LeFou to encourage him. Gaston thought of him anyway. His thoughts gave him strength, then when they had no more strength to give, they gave him resolve.

Gaston ran when he could, walked when he could not. He caught rides on the backs of carts traveling in the direction of the enchantress’ magic and swam through freezing rivers. He lost track of time, following her magic like he had followed his generals during war. He had not applied himself to finding love with such ferocity; Gaston could only wish he had.

It was to another castle that the magic led him. Gaston nearly collapsed with relief and exhaustion once he realized the smell of her magic had grown thick in the air. This is where the enchantress was now.

He stumbled toward her, not looking up until he was already at her feet. Gaston did not recognize her face, but he knew her magic better than he knew his letters. This was her.

They were in a beautiful garden. She sat on a bench, her hands clasped politely in her lap despite there being no one around. Gaston wondered if she was posing as a princess this time.

When she looked down at him, she betrayed no recognition. “Shoo.”

 _I need help,_ Gaston thought as loudly as he could. _Please, help me._

“I won’t lift your curse. You should not have come this far only to irritate me.” The enchantress nudged him with her foot, upon which was a dainty shoe. “Leave, Gaston. You will not find love here.”

 _I_ _’m not seeking love,_ Gaston thought, feeling as though exhaustion would overtake him at any moment. _Plague has come to the castle. I seek your help. You are— you are a powerful enchantress. You could cure the castle. Please._

The enchantress’ gaze did not soften. “I don’t often involve myself in matters of illness. Catastrophe brings out the best in humans, do you know? They go to such lengths to help their fellow man. It seems that even dogs have this empathy. You have traveled far on a hopeless mission.”

Gaston growled at her.

“I see you have not grown more polite,” the enchantress said, her lips turning. “It is in your favor that I did not task you to learn manners. But… I see that you have learned some lessons after all. The Gaston I last met would not have half-killed himself to save his friends. Have you learned to understand love?”

 _This isn_ _’t love,_ Gaston thought to her. _This is_ _… it’s… stupidity. They won’t leave when they can, so I have to try._

The enchantress laughed at him. “Love is not a matter of the brain, but of the heart. And the heart does not often consult the brain.”

_Don’t you care about Belle and Adam? If they die, the curse was broken for nothing._

“Their story has come to a close. Yours, on the other hand…” The enchantress hummed, playing with the small fan in her right hand. “It is a long journey and you are tired. You will not make it back in time to save LeFou. He is already sick.”

_I’ll run faster._

“Only to die upon arrival?”

Again, he tried to growl at her, but the sound was stuck in his throat. _This is no life. I cannot spend the rest of my days as a hound. I will go mad. If I can save him, it will be worth it._

“All for the man you ignored for years.”

_He is my friend._

“Is that truly how you think of him?” the enchantress said, smiling, and her expression brought fear instead of encouragement. “But I suppose it does not matter. You may have your cure. Understand that it must be used on each and every one of the castle and village inhabitants, from the sickest to those who show no symptoms at all. Only then will the plague be gone from the area. I will lend you strength until the very last person is cured.”

Gaston did not take her offer lightly. _And what will happen to me once they are cured?_

With a wave of her fan, a pouch appeared in the enchantress’ other hand. She secured it onto Gaston’s back. “You already know what will happen to you. Nothing is free in this world.”

A lifetime as a dog without the people he cared about or a hero’s death providing a cure to his people. Gaston had saved this very village during the war; now it seemed right that it would be his responsibility to do it once more. If he didn’t, it would all be for nothing. What did it matter, his war medals and accolades, if years later this silly little village would vanish from the map, becoming just another abandoned plague town? If Belle and LeFou no longer breathed the same air he did? If the triplets, and Tom and Dick and Stanley, and hell, even Frou-Frou died?

Gaston did not look again at the enchantress’ face. He did not request pity, for it would be foolish. She was a being of magic; the struggles of humanity did not reach her. His own death would not pain her, nor would that of the others. Gaston had what he needed. All he needed to do was carry out the last step.

Turning, he ran in the direction of the village.

His feet felt incredibly light.

Gaston ran without pain, without hunger, and with boundless energy. There was magic inside him and he must outrun it before it began to eat him from the inside out. Gaston stopped only a few times, catching restless sleep or a morsel of food. Mostly, he ran. Day and night blurred together. All that mattered was that the castle was somewhere ahead.

Once he finally saw it in the distance, Gaston did not allow himself a moment’s rest until he reached it.

The ballroom had been converted to a sickroom while he was away. It felt as though half the village had been placed inside, resting on cots and all in varying stages of sickness. Nurses and masked doctors walked the room, while Belle gave orders for an expansion of the sick wing to other nearby rooms. Gaston only had eyes for one patient in particular. He found him near the center of the room and jumped up, resting his front paws on the edge of the bed while his back legs held him steady.

LeFou looked at him from the bed. The swelling had begun, and his face was hot and red. “There you are. I was worried. I couldn’t find you.” He moved his hand closer and Gaston touched his nose to it. “Thanks for coming, old boy. You should be careful. Even dogs can get sick.”

As long as LeFou was alive, it wasn’t too late.

Gaston’s heart ached for his friend, but he knew he had arrived just in time.

He barked loudly and looked in Belle’s direction. She was too absorbed in her work, so he barked again, louder this time. One of the doctors tried to shoo him out of the room. Gaston avoided the doctor, barking all the while, until Belle finally looked his way.

“Stop! I know that dog,” she said. The doctor followed the queen’s orders and Gaston was allowed to stay. When she approached, Gaston saw that she too looked worse, though he had trouble telling if it was sickness or stress. This whole room smelled of pain and plague. “Hello, Monsieur Chien. What do you have to say for yourself? You’re disturbing the patients.”

Gaston stepped closer and turned his head to nose at the straps that held the pouch tightly against his back. Belle untied them, then opened the pouch to find a crystal vial with a blue liquid inside. Gaston jumped up once more and pressed his nose against LeFou.

“I don’t know if this is safe,” Belle said, turning the vial over in her hands. She uncorked it and smelled the liquid inside. “It smells like medicine.”

“I’ll drink it,” LeFou rasped. “I’ll try anything.”

“Are you sure?”

“I trust my dog,” LeFou said, glancing his way. “Please, Belle.”

Belle still looked unsure, but she picked up a teaspoon from a cart of doctor’s equipment and poured several drops of the liquid into it. She looked once more in LeFou’s direction. At his nod, she gave in, and held the teaspoon to his lips.

LeFou swallowed the liquid. After a moment, he said, “It isn’t poison, at least.”

Just as he said it, magic began to swirl around him.

Belle gasped. “I recognize this magic. It is the same one that freed Adam from his curse.” She clutched the bottle to her chest and watched as the magic swirled around LeFou, then faded. “How do you feel, LeFou?”

Gaston’s tail wagged as LeFou sat up in his sickbed.

No longer did he look feverish or queasy, and he even smelled clean, of magic and renewal and himself. Gaston would never forget his proper scent for as long as he lived. Not that it would be much longer, now.

“I feel good. _Alive_ ,” LeFou said, reaching for Gaston.

Gaston only allowed himself to be petted for a moment before approaching the next sickbed and barking. Belle personally administered the cure while LeFou woke the patients and prepared them. Once each and every one of the patients in the ballroom had been cured, Gaston barked at the doctors, nurses, and Belle herself. He even personally made sure that Stanley and Adam received the cure, which he did with ill grace.

“Everyone has to drink,” Belle realized, taking the cure herself. “Not just the sick. Everyone in the castle and in the village. But will there me enough?”

“Let’s hope so,” LeFou said.

Gaston could not answer her question. All he could do was help her seek out every soul in the castle, from the kitchen staff to the visiting dignitaries to the animals who had been in contact with people. He had a strange second sense when it came to the infected, which he put down to the enchantress’ magic at play. Gaston, Adam, Belle, and LeFou took a carriage to the village, where they continued their efforts.

A crowd gathered around them of people who had been cured, watching and cheering as the prince and princess cured the village of the plague. It was morning when Gaston arrived in the castle and early evening when they administered the very last dose of the cure to a child who quickly ran off again, unconcerned about the terrible fate he had so easily avoided.

“That should be it,” Belle said, sitting down on the stone edge of the fountain and wiping her hand over her brow. “I’m so relieved. I never expected this—I’m so relieved. I can barely believe it.”

“And it’s all thanks to this dog,” Adam said, smiling down at Gaston.

Adam offered Belle a drink of water, while LeFou offered compliments to Gaston, who appreciated them while he still could. He leaned against the stones, closing his eyes and acknowledging that he had succeeded in his task. The castle and the village were saved. LeFou and Belle would live—for now. Who knew what the future held? At least Gaston was relatively certain that they would protect each other and be protected in turn by the people who cared about them. Gaston would no longer be a part of that number.

Gaston did not realize he fell until the side of his face hit the dirt road. The enchantress’ magic was fading. She had been honest; just as the last person was healed, Gaston would pay his price for delivering the cure fast enough.

“No, no,” LeFou murmured from close by. When Gaston opened his bleary eyes, he saw that LeFou was on his knees in front of him, his hands moving helplessly over Gaston’s fur. “What’s happening?”

Belle and Adam drew closer immediately. Gaston wanted to resent their presence at his deathbed, since it had been his conflict with Belle and the Beast that had led him to this state, but he drew a strange sort of comfort from their presence. His oldest friend, his queen, and his king. It was a good end. Gaston didn’t want it—there was still so much he wanted to do with his life—but he would take it.

“He’s dying,” Belle murmured. “It must have been too much for him to carry the cure all the way here.”

Gaston could barely hear her.

Through his weak vision, he saw LeFou turn around and pick up the crystal vial. “If this can heal the plague, maybe it can do more.”

He held the potion up to Gaston’s snout while Belle drew open Gaston’s mouth. Gaston no longer had the strength to complain about his mouth being forcibly opened and the awful-tasting cure shoved inside. It wouldn’t work. He did not have the plague. All it would do was make his death more unpleasant.

 _Are you so sure?_ said the enchantress’ voice in his head.

Gaston was too tired to argue.

It seemed she was happy to go on. _I will admit I did not expect much from you when I cursed you—just as I did not expect your prince to fall in love and to be loved in return. Perhaps my view of humanity is limited. I always seem to underestimate the confident, obstinate, foolish ones, who barely admit their emotions to themselves and yet give their lives for others. You love your village and the castle. Had you felt a lesser emotion, you would not be here, dying on the ground of your beloved village. I was wrong._

 _I could have told you that before,_ Gaston thought. _Of course I love it. This is my home. Will you accept it as enough?_

_Just as you must accept that you love your friends. Learn from this experience, Gaston._

Gaston closed his eyes. _I have._

He could not lie to her in his own mind. Nor did he want to, not for pride or resentment, when there was a chance he could live as a man. Gaston thought of the village and the castle. He thought of the triplets and the master of the hunt, who took such good care of his dogs, and the entertaining visitors. He thought of Belle and he thought of LeFou, and he brought to mind the emotions that rose in him when he saw them. His amusement, his irritation, his desire to protect them. For all that he once thought he loved Belle, it was LeFou who Gaston thought of most. He had spent more time in LeFou’s presence than in any other person’s during his time as a dog. This had not been by accident, nor had he been stuck with him out of nowhere else to go. When Gaston thought of the future, it was LeFou who stood in the foreground.

_Is it enough? Is this love?_

_It is,_ said the enchantress, and Gaston saw the bright white light through his closed eyes. The pain faded, as did the exhaustion.

He heard a cry of shock and opened his eyes. When Gaston lifted his hand in front of his face, he saw that it was a human hand once more. He could have kissed the ground with relief; he could have sought the nearest mirror. Instead, he stood up on two legs for the first time in months, looked between the three shocked faces around him and said, “I believe I owe all of you apologies.”

It was the least he could do. Both because his conscience nagged at him and because there might be something treasonous about having attempted the kill the prince once, despite him being a beast at the time.

From all around them, the crowd of villagers gasped and pointed. And then the first person cheered, “Gaston!” It was familiar, but Gaston remembered himself enjoying it more in the past.

“Gaston!” LeFou cried, stumbling back from him. “You were my dog? But you couldn’t have been!”

“You knew I only had two dogs,” Gaston replied, not unkindly. “I would not have bought another one without telling you of my purchase. After the battle, the enchantress allowed me to keep my life in exchange for a curse. I would live as a dog until I learned the meaning of love.”

“And did you?” LeFou asked.

“I learned that I couldn’t go on the way I had,” Gaston admitted. He looked Belle in the eye and said, “I was cruel to you and your father. I shouldn’t have coerced you or caused him pain.” To Adam, he said, “I shouldn’t have tried to kill you or lead the attack on your castle.” To LeFou, he said, “LeFou, my oldest friend… you deserved so much better from me. I should have treated you better.”

“Yes, you should have.” LeFou took a deep breath. “Who— who did you learn to love, then?”

“Everyone, I think,” Gaston replied, looking at the faces of his friends, acquaintances, everyone he had seen day in, day out for years. “I found the enchantress and I begged her for a cure for all of you. Without her power, I could not have gotten back in time to help, but it came at the price of my life. Or at least I thought it did. She let me live.”

“That sounds like something she would do,” said Adam. “Your form was kinder than mine.”

“You were not knee-height,” Gaston replied, and he thought he saw the beginning of a smile on Adam’s face. “I’m sorry for shooting you.”

“The enchantress healed the damage.” Adam shook his head, and, almost as though he was surprised at himself, added, “You did no lasting harm.”

Belle crossed her arms. “You’ll apologize to Papa, too, and to everyone else who needs it. And you won’t complain that I did not marry you.”

“I promise.”

“Then welcome back. I can’t say I like you,” Belle said, shaking her head. “But… you saved us the castle and the village. You did what none of us could do. Thank you, Gaston.”

From there, the crowd cheered and thanked him too, and Gaston’s attention was split between the village who was grateful to him and the people he owed his return to. He was asked to tell the tale of his enchantment another time, so he did, and Belle and Adam and LeFou listened and made their own interjections. Belle remarked on how sweet Gaston had been as a dog and remembered the rose he brought to her during the wedding. Adam remarked on the fact that Gaston had never been quite so sweet to him, while LeFou complained of having to wash him. It was a strange sort of reunion, with confusion but more warmth than Gaston had expected. He thought he would have to earn back the villagers’ good favor once he became human, but now he had it once more, and it filled him with warmth and pride. He cared more about his friends’ good opinion of him, but it felt good to be thanked, to be able to say things in response instead of barking and wagging his tail.

LeFou vanished from sight. There was a party, and then there was drinking, and there was catching up with his friends and the rest of the village, but LeFou was not in his place in the corner of Gaston’s eye.

Gaston looked around and said, “Where is LeFou?”

“He went home. It’s been a long week for the sick,” Belle replied. She was quiet for a moment, then she added, “He’s missed you very much. You have to be good to him.”

“I’ve missed him, too.”

“You’ve seen him every day.”

Gaston shook his head, unable to properly explain it. “I haven’t been able to talk to him. I couldn’t do anything about his grief or his struggles.” With more care, he added, “I’ve missed you, too, Belle. I missed arguing with you. You aggravate me to no end, but what you say always makes me think.”

“I’m sure we’ll argue again soon,” Belle said. She sounded amused. “You really have changed, Gaston. It’s a good look for you.”

“I’ve always looked good.” Gaston smiled, bringing out all his charm, and laughed as Belle rolled her eyes. “I’ll see you, Belle.”

When he looked back, he saw that she had turned to Adam once more, and that there were still drinks being raised to Gaston’s good health. It would be a hell of a party: the return of Gaston and the end of the plague. Despite their chants of his name, Gaston knew which one was the more important. The prince and princess were both too stuffy to properly appreciate a good party—they would likely soon return to the castle—but perhaps he could cajole LeFou to join him. LeFou had always enjoyed a good party, and there would be food and drink aplenty.

Gaston knocked on the door of the little house that now felt more familiar than his own. There was no answer. He knocked again. Then again. “LeFou, are you there?”

He continued to knock.

The door flew open. LeFou’s face was red and he had a look of nervous determination in his eyes. It was new from this height; Gaston had previously only seen him like this from the perspective of a dog. As a man, LeFou always bent to his will.

“Now see here, Gaston, you're my very best friend, but you have your own home. You can’t just come into mine whenever you want anymore!”

“Not even to thank you for caring for me?” Gaston asked, angling himself through the doorway of LeFou’s home until LeFou threw his hands up and allowed him inside.

“Will you? Thank me?”

“You did so much for me.”

“You were a dog,” LeFou said. “Who wouldn’t care for one? I didn’t even know it was you.”

“But you cared for me all the same.” Gaston stepped closer. LeFou did not run, but he looked as though he may try to. Gaston liked the look of him from this height. It felt natural to once again be a man, with a man’s height and a man’s eye. Gaston wanted to return the favor, to care for LeFou in return. But his friend was not cursed, nor did he want for anything. What could Gaston offer him except for his friendship, which LeFou might still be too angry to accept? “Thank you, LeFou. My old friend. Tell me how I can repay you.”

LeFou took a step back. “You really don’t have to! It’s fine. It really is.”

Brow furrowing, Gaston tried to understand. “I treated you badly, then imposed on your hospitality. You could ask anything of me. It was because of you that the curse was lifted.”

“I thought you said…”

“I couldn’t stand to see you die of plague. You wouldn’t leave—”

“—oh, that was what you were trying to do, keep me away from the castle—”

“—and so I had to find the enchantress. You and Belle and Tom and Dick and the master of the hunt and the cook who always fed me and Frou-Frou—”

“ _Frou-Frou_ ,” LeFou said with a laugh.

Gaston felt his cheeks heat. “Quite a good dog, if very excitable.”

“It really was you. Monsieur Chien, my old friend Gaston. I still can’t believe it.” LeFou shook his head. “I may miss him. He was a good companion.”

“I am still him.”

With a careful look, LeFou said, “A friendship with a dog is very different from a friendship with a man. A dog can wound you with his teeth, but a man can do so with his words. I’m not sure I don’t prefer the teeth. They’re more honest.”

“I’m not going to wound you, LeFou. Not anymore.”

LeFou took a step closer. Gaston took it as a positive sign until LeFou said, “You will. You won’t be able to help it because you’re you and I’m me. I know what I want as recompense. Close your eyes.”

Gaston did as he asked.

He wasn’t quite surprised to feel LeFou’s lips against his own. It felt like it was a long time coming, like it was inevitable in a way, like coming home. Perhaps LeFou meant to use the kiss to scare him off or to preempt more pain by discovering Gaston’s reaction now. Gaston did not know. He was no great thinker, nor did feelings come easy to him. This did: kissing LeFou back, bringing him closer, lingering on the press of LeFou’s tongue and the texture of his hair. When they both pulled away, Gaston finally opened his eyes to find LeFou looking at him.

“You would kiss anyone after so much time,” LeFou murmured. “There. That’s all I wanted.”

Gaston did not release him. “No, I wouldn’t. I kissed you.” He rested his forehead against LeFou’s. “I missed you. I still don’t know if I understand love, but I will figure it out. I promise you.”

“You’ve made a lot of promises since you came back.”

“I intend to keep them.” Gaston cupped LeFou’s face. “I intend to keep _you_.”

Swallowing, LeFou said, “I’m not going to turn you down. I loved you when you were a jerk, and when you were dead, and when you were a dog, and even now when you’ve come back. I should. I should show you that you can’t just come into my life and turn it upside down _again_ , but I just want you to stay.”

A competitive part of Gaston heard LeFou’s words and told him in no uncertain terms that Gaston needed to catch up. LeFou was ahead of him in love. The rest of him simply enjoyed hearing LeFou say it. Gaston had learned to love LeFou as a friend. His next lesson would be to love him as a man. There would be no magic to guide him on his way. Just LeFou. Gaston preferred it this way. In his chest, his heart, he knew it would not be a long, arduous lesson; if he could value LeFou’s life above his own and enjoy his touch, then he would find his way there.

“I’ll stay,” Gaston said. It was another promise, but it was the best one he’d made yet. He kissed LeFou again. In the distance, faint sounds of laughter and conversation could be heard, and in front of him Gaston could feel the beat of LeFou’s heart. He was exactly where he wanted to be.

When had his life begun to revolve around LeFou’s? When had their friendship gotten so deep that Gaston could not imagine another path for the two of them? Oh, back then he had not thought of this; he had not considered holding LeFou like this. Or fucking him, which brought a thrum of desire through him. Back then, it had been that LeFou understood him, that he stood by him, that he always came when Gaston called. Now Gaston had come to LeFou’s heel as a hound, spent all this time at his side, and he understood that there was no shame in the give and take of the heart.

Whether it was his words or his actions, but the dam was broken. LeFou kissed him fiercely, leaving Gaston no recourse but to kiss him back just as passionately.

Eventually, Gaston had to pull back, and say, “You said a kiss was all you wanted.”

“It was all I thought I could have. Come on, Gaston, you wouldn’t… would you? Not because you’re grateful to me, but because you want to. You wouldn’t. You never have before.” LeFou made to pull away, but Gaston wouldn’t release him, and LeFou did not seem as though he truly wanted to go. “You’re not attracted to _me_. You like Belle— her beauty, her hair, her.”

“I’ve realized that beauty does not get me far in love,” Gaston admitted. Now that LeFou stopped pulling away, Gaston gentled his grip, allowing himself to run his hands across the fabric that kept him from touching LeFou’s skin. “Beauty does not make me full.”

“You’ve spent too long as a dog. You’re thinking with your stomach.”

“And you’ve spent too long without me. You talk back now.” Gaston smiled. “I like it.” He brushed LeFou’s hair from his face. “You have hair. It has a good wave to it. It is long enough to grip.” Gaston practiced what he said, tugging LeFou’s hair gently and enjoying the small gasp he made. Once more, Gaston marveled that he had fingers he could grip things with, and that he could feel the smoothness of LeFou’s hair. “How do you know that you don’t have beauty?”

“Someone would have told me if I had any,” LeFou said with what he perhaps thought was a casual shrug. “You don’t have to lie, Gaston.”

LeFou wouldn’t look at him, so Gaston tugged at his hair again, and watched him shiver as he met Gaston’s eyes. “I haven’t lied. I like to look at you. Your face was so far away when I was a hound and now it is right here. I like the way you look at me. I’ve always enjoyed your appreciation of me. Now I realize that to see you looking at me, I had to look your way. And I did. Often.”

Gaze heavy with anticipation, with hope, LeFou said, “I’m still no woman. You always talked about finding a wife. You liked your widows.”

This time, he did not try to move away, and Gaston did not need to hold him closer. He did so anyway.

“I did,” Gaston agreed. “I liked how few expectations they had for me. As for a wife… I think it says something about me, that I chose a woman who never looked my way. I enjoy women. I always have.” With the hand splayed across LeFou’s back, Gaston let his thumb slip past the lower edge of his shirt for the barest touch against LeFou’s skin. He could hear LeFou’s intake of breath and feel the rise of his chest. “I’ve also liked the look of men, even if I’ve never acted on it.”

“I would’ve been so jealous if you had,” LeFou blurted out. His cheeks heated a touch, and he continued, saying, “I could deal with it when you left me for women.”

“But you didn’t like it.” Gaston knew it in the past and he knew it now; it used to entertain him, LeFou’s jealousy, and now it warmed him. His best friend; his LeFou.

LeFou shook his head. “I hated it. I wanted—” a breath “—I wanted your eyes on me.”

“You told me women found you clingy. What about men?”

“Everyone found me clingy,” LeFou said, ruefully. He squeezed Gaston’s arm. “But it wasn’t them I clung to. One look from you and I would leave them. I had a few lovers—men—but none of note. No one could compare.”

Gaston struggled not to preen. Of course no one could compare; this was how it should be: LeFou and Gaston, together once more. Anything else would be wrong. LeFou’s confession allowed him to admit to further inexperience in laying with men. “You can teach me, as I taught you hunting.”

“I— Gaston!” LeFou’s cheeks heated further. It was a good look on him. Gaston released LeFou’s hair to touch his knuckles against the warmed skin.

“I’ll endeavor to be a better student than you were,” Gaston teased. “I don’t run from a challenge.”

“That was a wild boar, not a challenge!”

“It was magnificent. I still have those tusks. It was a good trip.” He remembered that trip with fondness.

LeFou seemed equally fond. “We went swimming together after. You were strong and handsome and I was a lovesick fool.”

“Are you still?”

“Yes,” LeFou admitted.

Gaston would never tire of hearing it. He kissed LeFou again instead of struggling to put into words everything he felt. LeFou kissed him back, and they were lost in the press of lip and tongue, until Gaston could not stifle the urge to have LeFou against the bed instead of standing. He drew his hands down LeFou’s sides and cupped his buttocks, lifting him up with his renewed strength. Oh, he had missed this.

LeFou wrapped his arms around Gaston’s neck. “I love your strength.”

Many women did. Gaston was not shy about his muscles and he enjoyed putting them to good use. “You carried me when I was a hound. It’s my turn.”

“You weighed less than a sack of potatoes,” LeFou said with a laugh as Gaston carried him to the bedroom. “With your little tail and floppy ears. I kept thinking you would get lost somewhere. Or that you would decide to stay in the castle.”

Gaston shook shook his head. “I wanted to stay with you.”

LeFou gave him a look that Gaston better recognized from when he was cursed; it was a look of almost helpless adoration, a _what am I going to do with you_ kind of gaze. Gaston did not try to kiss him, not wanting to ruin the evening by tripping over a pair of shoes lying around or the nest of blankets by the bed that he used to sleep in. He set LeFou on the bed, then cupped his cheek and kissed him until LeFou’s eyes were heavy with arousal.

“Show me what you like,” Gaston said, pulling LeFou’s shirt up. He took care with the buttons and the seams, since LeFou had made these clothes with care.

But LeFou was not concerned with buttons. “Can I touch you?”

“Please.”

LeFou let out a breath as he pressed his hands against Gaston’s clothed chest, fingers digging into his firm muscles. It didn’t take long for both of them to rid themselves of clothing. Gaston expected to enjoy LeFou’s gaze on his naked form. Expectation did not dull the pleasure of LeFou’s admiration and of his touch. At first, LeFou touched him gently, with hesitation. He grew more confident, perhaps mirroring Gaston’s own explorations of his friend. Gaston needed no encouragement to glide his hands over LeFou’s skin. He noted the scar of LeFou’s that he knew of and the two that he didn’t. He kissed LeFou, heavy and hot, and stroked the raised nubs on his chest that left LeFou gasping into his mouth, and the curls of hair on his chest and soft skin of his belly. When he trailed his hand down to LeFou’s length, Gaston held it more carefully than he would his own, unsure for a moment but not uninterested. He watched LeFou’s face and heard his sounds, now rising in volume, and knew now without doubt that this was what he wanted. Gaston’s own cock had not hesitated, not like his mind; it was firm and hot against LeFou’s thigh.

“Like this,” LeFou said, almost in a moan. He reached for Gaston’s cock and guided it to rest against his own, holding them together as he moved his hand and his hips arched up. “I like this.”

Gaston kissed him for it, just because he could, just because LeFou told him what he liked and let Gaston handle the rest. He was a quick learner. He wrapped his hand around their lengths and let himself enjoy the pressure, the pleasure, the heat. Underneath him, LeFou moaned, and Gaston kissed his chin, the edge of his lips, his mouth. LeFou spent himself first, coming undone with a shudder, and Gaston stroked himself until he came. He lingered above LeFou with lazy, spent kisses, leaving only once to clean the both of them before returning to LeFou’s bed. Gaston would have to seduce LeFou into Gaston’s own bed—it was bigger and more comfortable—but for now this would do. Gaston was happy, comfortable here. Was this love? This all-consuming want that invigorated him even when he was drained?

In the darkness, LeFou asked, “You’re here to stay, aren’t you, Gaston?”

“The curse is broken.” Gaston pressed a kiss against LeFou’s shoulder. “I’ll stay with you.”

He still didn’t know if the feeling in his chest was love. But there was so much time to figure it out, and LeFou would be his guide in this as he was in the bedroom. He was a far better guide than the enchantress. There would be no curses here, no anguish at the thought of failing. Just the warmth in his chest and the soft look in LeFou’s eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm also on [Tumblr](https://wynnefic.tumblr.com/).


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